The chill is just enough so that biking warms me up on the uphill bits, and the wind cools me down on the downhill ones. Every now and then, the sun comes out just long enough for me to take off my jacket, and the scattered clouds after the recent rain make for brilliant sunsets. The slugs come out, the fog lays over the fields, and the leaves are turning.
Sure, it’s not always pleasant. I tend to over-romanticize things in some of my writings. Fall—like life—is full of ups and downs. Hence, the following poem.
Autumn sweeps in like crushed dreams—
filled with the scent of rotting apples,
the plight of a squished slug beneath my bike tire,
the wilting of the sunflowers, sagging in the field.
Death comes for us all—
but first, it sets the forest ablaze with reds and yellows
as the goldenrods fall like tiki torches,
and mums crackle and burst with purple and orange flames.
Wind trickles down and raindrops howl—
striking my face as I bike to work,
walk the dog, set foot out the door.
A book sits closed by the hearth—
ribbon wedged between the pages,
somewhere near chapter three,
waiting, just waiting for its reader to come home,
settle down with a mug of black tea,
and breathe in the damp musk of autumn.
Let’s chat! What’s your favorite season? What do you think of autumn? Do you see it as a bunch of cold, dark days or time for more tea and reading?